Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1942)

.o.e.00.. ... But Ma. and .oe was the omce, o, cou.e, caU.n. -^ttj:rS^t'l;e.own .Ke B. ^^ ^o^^l^H ra4°;idret=an/r.eTelttr U da.s ea.Ue. a.out .oe. late when she hungered (or them, but in her was the ability to take gratefully what life offered and not asK for more. Life had already, she believed, offered her a great deal, and she was content. Joe was different. He did not accept from life, he demanded of it. And when his demands were refused he was baffled and furious. He wanted the whole world to be better than it was, not only for himself but for others too. That was why he might some day be a great man, but it was also why he would never be a contented one. HE HAD been moody, easily exasperated lately. It was because he was working too hard at the office, cf course. Tonight, for instance, Mary had looked forward to having him spend the evening at homeNot that the evening had started very propitiously, after all. After dinner— a good dinner, but rather too silent a one — they had come into the living room. Restlessly, Joe had switched on the radio, twisting the dials until the voice of a news announcer filled the room. Mary had winced. "Joe — would you turn it down a little?" "Hmm?" "I said, could you turn it down a little? It's so loud — " Angrily, he had switched the machine off entirely. "Of course, if it annoys you to hear what's going on in the world!" "Joe dear, you know that wasn't what I meant. I only — " The telephone bell sliced across her apologies. And that was the end of the quiet evening at home. It lew u>,y. .= about Joes late hours of work, had agreed there was no reason for him to slave himself into a breakdown. A tiny worm of fear curled within Mary's heart. Could it be that Joe was not at the office all these long nights' . . It was an absurd and disloyal thought; she put it away from her just as Annie came in from 'he hall. , ^^. , , "Mr. Marl in dropped this out ot his coat pocket as he was goin' out. Mis' Martin. Looks like it s a letter." , "Thank you, Annie." Mary took the folded scrap of paper, and it fell open in her hand. In an mstant she had read the few words written on it: , , "Darting Joe— Come tonightmake any excuse, but come. You must choose between us. I wont go on like this. I love you. S." The white, paper blurred and swam before her eyes and then, mercifully, everything disappeared entirely. It was the first time m her life Mary Marlin had fainted. She could have been unconscious for only a few seconds, because she was dimly aware of Annie fussing over her, helping her upstairs to bed, while all the time the knowledge of what she had read in the note blotted out every other consideration. When at last she was rid of Annie she lay awake in the darkened room, thinking back over the last weeks and seeing them in all theu sordid clarity. Joe came in a little after midnight, and she pretended to be asleep. In the morning she slipped out of bed before he was awake, and managed to be busy in the kitchen with Annie when he came down to breakfast. In all, she saw him long enough only to exchange a "good morning" that it took all her strength to keep calm and matter-of-fact. In the long night's vigil she had determined to keep silent about her discovery. That, she had told herself, was the wise thing to do. But after Joe had left the house she felt panic pressing down upon her, and knew she could never hug this secret silently to herself. She realized, too, that David Post must have known about this — this intrigue of Joe's. Ai an exciting novel, begin reoding The Story ot Mary Marlin, the radio serial by Jane Crusinberry, heord daily ot II A.M., E.S.T., on NBC-Red ond at 5:00 P.M., E.S.T.. on CBS, sponsored by Ivory Snow. Photographic illustrotions posed by the cost — Anne Seymour os Mary Marlin, Rupert LaBelle os Rufus Kane, Fran Corlon as Bunny Mitchell, Fred Sullivan OS Froier Mitchell, Charme Allen os Soroh Jane Kone. That was why he had been so embarrassed over her complaint about Joe's late hours. Horrible, that others should know, should pity her! Possessed by such an inner frenzy of despair that she could not stay quietly af home, she went downtown, to Joe's office. But Miss Gibbons, his secretary, said he was in Court, and Mary was about to leave when David Post came out of his private office and saw her. Dave was a little older than Joe in years, and had always seemed older than that in his quiet, thoughtful ways. His broad face was not exactly hand, some, but it had a rugged, good honesty, and when he smiled it became suddenly charming— the lace of a man who had grown up witnout forgetting the boy he once was. He smiled now, at sight of Mary. "I know you didn't drop in to see me, Mary. But come in and sit down a minute. Joe's in Court." M.IO AND TELEVIMO" MI«»°> Mory Marlin was fhe Hrsf woman in whom Mus Kane had ever been inferesfed emugft (o infroduce to h!s mother. "Yes — I know. Miss Gibbons — told me." He looked at her keenly, seeing, now, her agitation, but he said nothing until she was in his office, seated in the big leather chair opposite his at the desk. Then he said, "Something wrong, Mary?" "Oh — Dave — " Helplessly, under his sympathy, she began to cry. "It's Joe, Dave — Joe and some — other woman! All this, time — I've no idea how long — he's been deriving me. I found a note last night, after he'd left the house—" David's face had hardened in anger— anger against the man who had been his boyhood (riend"Mary," he said thickly, "don't— I can't stand it to see you cry." "S"' it's so terrible — I never 'nought Joe would do a thing like 'n«. 1 trusted him!" 'Yes," Dave said. "It's too bad J'e men can't realize what a won"i^fful thing we have when a fine Wmich, 1942 woman has faith in us . . . Mary, I did so want to save you from this." Mary raised her head. "You knew, didn't you?— Then you must know who the girt is! David— tell me!" "I don't— Wait, Mary. Let's not do anything we'll regret. I'd rather not tell you. For one thing, I can't believe this is serious— with Joe. I can't believe it!" There was a crisp knock on the door, and Joe entered almost before the sound had died away. His eyes swept from one of them to the other, taking in David's agitation, Mary's reddened eyes, and he pulled the door shut behind him. "It appears," he said menacingly, "that Dave has been giving you a little inside information, Mary." "Joe! Dave hasn't said a thing. I — ^I found a note you dropped at home." "You've read it?" "Yes, I—" "It was mine. Why did you read it?" "I didn't think there was anything we didn't share — until now," Mary said simply. "Joe, what does it mean?" "More or less what it appears to mean," he said shortly. "As I'm sure you realize, since you lost no time in seeing an attorney about it!" Dave stood up, and there was about him the air of a man whose patience is wearing thin. "Don't be a fool, Joe! Mary came here to see you, not me." "— And lost no time in telling you all about it!" Joe snapped. "Joe — " David Post held out a placating hand. "I can't understand you, Joe. Can't you see you're ruining Mary's life — your own life — just for a cheap little — " "You'd better not say it, Dave!" Joe warned. "I wish I'd fired her the first week she was in this office!" Dave cried — and stopped, aghast at what he had done. Mary looked past the men, at the closed door to the outer office. She knew, now. The note had been signed with the initial S. And Miss Gibbons, the secretary, who was blonde and slim and vacantly pretty and young, was named Sally "Oh, Joe!" she said at last. "Your —secretary! Oh, how— cheap!" Blood throbbed, wine-colored, just under the skin of Joe's face. "I'm sick of all this," he said. Ive been through hell, and I can t stand it any longer. Vll do what I like! The room hummed with the crash of the door, slammed behind him. After a while, David said wearily, "Come, Mary-ni take you home. "Home!" she repeated after him, bitterly. "Ho?ne.'" The Red Lion Inn was a shabby and rather disreputable night club on the outskirts of Cedar Springs. It had a small dance floor, a bar, booths where couples could sit and talk in reasonable assurance that they would not be heard in the adjoining cubicles. Joe Marlin and Sally Gibbons sat in one of these booths, that night. .One of the two Red Lion waiters said to the other, "Boy, are they goin' round and round! Somethin's botherin' 'em plenty — and he's bothered worse than she is." The other waiter snickered. "Maybe the guy's wife found out," he said. JT WAS shortly before midnight when they left, running from the door of the Inn to Joe's car, for it was a windy night with flaws of rain. In the car, driving back toward town, the discussion that had been going on all evening reached its climax. "But now she knows, Joe. You can't say you don't want to hurt her any more. And I'm good and tired of this sneaking around — hiding as if we were a couple of criminals." "Let's drop it, Sally. We've talked about it too much tonight." "We've got to talk about it! You say you love me — but you — you won't — do — what I want you to — " A sob muffled her voice, and she dabbed at her eyes with a tiny handkerchief. Its perfume filled the confined air of the car. "Joe — " There was a new note in her voice now, an oddly determined note. "Yes?" "Dear, I didn't want to teU you — not right now — but I — I don't know how I could go through it alone. I thuik I'd . . . kill myself . . ." The speed of the car slackened as his foot slipped from the throttle. He turned to look at her, his mouth a little open; forgetting, in his amazement, where he was until the pull of wheels on soft gravel made him wrench the machine back onto the road. And even this was automatic. "Sally! You don't mean you're — " "Yes. A baby." "Good Lord!" But as he drove on, he thought, "A son!" and unexpected delight rose in him. Joe did not return to his home at all that night, spending it instead at the hotel. It was dusk the next afternoon when Mary saw him coming up the path from the street, and was filled with the unreasoning certainty that he was returning to her, coming to wipe out all the memories of Continued on page 48 21